Darlin'
by Old stuff of Mine
Summary: Set mid-Season 8. Bobby reflects on his and Eames' slowly mending relationship. One-shot. Song-fic. Definitely fluffy. Unequivocally BA.


Disclaimer: The characters belong to Dick Wolf. The song belongs to Between the Trees. Would you honestly believe I have enough talent to come up with anything as great as them?

A/N: I find a lot of Between the Trees songs make me think of Bobby and Alex.

This is set about mid-Season 8.

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_This call is meant to be brief _

_A simple hello ending with goodbye _

_Then you say hello _

_Now, I am melting _

_And now my goodbye _

_Becomes a goodnight _

He blinks at the display on his cell phone.

**Call ended. Duration: 2:07:43**

When he picked up the phone at 5:00 he had just meant to give her a quick call. Their now daily check-in.

"I'm home, are you?

Yes I'm okay.

Yes we're okay."

Or something like that.

It was a habit he had picked up after all the shit of the past 2 years. After all the things he had done to her, to them, everything they had to go through, they had still somehow managed to revive the broken remains of a partnership that flat lined for so long resuscitation should have been impossible. And so every day, as soon as he gets home, he picks up his phone and presses speed dial 2 just to make sure they're still on track. Still alive. Because even though they're out of the ER now, he knows they're still a long way from a clean bill of health.

So he called, just like he did every day. But somehow today that supposed 5 minute chat had turned into one of the longest phone conversations he has ever had. He couldn't help it; he just couldn't hang up and know that he'd have to wait until the next morning to hear her voice again. That it would be half a day until he could once again revel in the sound of her laugh. Over twelve hours before another witty retort reached his ears.

_I don't mind if you don't mind _

_Please say you do not mind if this call _

_Goes on all night _

_Cause I have more to say _

_My afternoon was O.K. _

_My evening was fine but this night _

_I want it to be the best night _

_Of our lives _

But Eames didn't seem to mind. She kept up her side of the conversation too. They talked about everything and nothing. He wanted to know more about her nephew; she asked him all about his niece.

It was…nice, he thinks. Comfortable. Two people who know each other as deeply – probably more deeply – than they know themselves talking about their lives.

Catching up.

Yes, that's it. They were catching up on everything they had missed in past two years. All the good stuff that has been hanging around the outskirts of their lives, but all the pain and hurt and – he chokes on this word – betrayal hasn't allowed it in.

And some things, like the beautiful planting pot Nathan painted for her for mother's day "he had to ask the teacher special permission so he could make two crafts. I'm pretty sure Mrs. Drake thinks Liz is a lesbian now", he already knew about. Well, Goren, Eames' partner, knew about them; Bobby her friend was listening with fresh ears.

Because their partnership isn't the only relationship they're working on, their friendship needs some serious help too. But it's coming.

_Sweet Darling _

_This is my confession to _

_The crimes of wanting you badly _

_And Darlin' if you're wondering _

_Here's your answer _

_Yes I like you _

_I don't love you _

_I can't love you _

_Yet _

It's coming back to them. And along with that renewed rapport comes something else. Something that never left in the first place but which he's been trying to ignore since it first surfaced an eternity ago. Way before all their recent troubles – if he's honest even before she became pregnant with Nathan.

He wants her. He, Bobby Goren, wants her, Alex Eames. The so-called "Major Head-Case" wants to do unspeakably dirty things to the one person who has somehow stood by him through everything. He feels wrong for wanting it, for wanting to invade even more of her already overtaken life. He feels like he should arrest himself for some of the thoughts that run through his head while they work together. But, of course, that would never work because they would send Alex in to interrogate him and he would push her against the one way mirror and kiss her so thoroughly she wouldn't even remember what Miranda was.

Oh yes, Bobby likes Alex. A lot. But he doesn't love her. Not like that.

He can't love her. It just can't happen now. Because sexual urges are something he can ignore, push out of his mind, try to forget about. But love? He can't denounce love. He can't pretend that it doesn't exist and somehow risk having the love of his life not know how he feels.

So he can't love her. Because if he did, he'd have to tell her. And there was no way in hell their very feeble partnership could handle the stress of him baring his soul to her and the gentle but finite rejection she would be forced to give him. Not now, not yet.

_These calls are getting longer _

_And these nights go on _

_And on and on forever _

_I do believe I'm getting better _

_Knowing you _

_Hopefully all of you _

**Call ended. Duration: 3:01:12**

He groans at the number on the screen. His phone bill is gonna be brutal this month.

But it's worth it. Today they talked about all sorts of little issues that have arisen over the years. She asked him why he never calls her Alex "I want you to know you can call me Alex if you want; in fact, it'll make me very happy if you do, it's what my friends – what my family calls me". He asked her about her career "You didn't ruin my career Bobby, you made it. I'm happy where I – where we are."

He's getting better at opening up to her, at sharing with her how he feels and how he felt. And in return she's opening up to him more. Their friendship isn't returning to the way it was before, though. It's becoming even better.

_Sitting watching movies _

_We both know I do not watch a bit of it _

_Cause I am much too busy _

_Leaving my hand close enough _

_So you'll hold it _

It's Saturday night, and like every Saturday night he is sitting on her couch, bottle of beer in his right hand, bucket of popcorn on his lap, and a movie playing on the screen in front of him. It's another one of their traditions, Saturday movie nights. Another reason to keep in touch outside of work. (Though he can't help thinking that they never needed reasons or traditions before).

Tonight it's Die Hard (her favourite), but he doesn't need to watch the movie. He doesn't even know which one it is, but he already knows what's going to happen. John McClane is going to inadvertently get into a situation where he has to fight off the bad guys single-handedly because the authorities are too stupid to do anything – Bobby can sympathize with that – and in the course of saving the day will get extremely hurt and bloody and then say/yell "Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker." and at some point hereafter the day will be saved.

So he really doesn't need to pay that much attention. Instead he can focus every ounce of concentration on her, Alexandra Eames.

And on oh-so-carefully, casually dropping his left hand on the small expanse of leather covered cushion separating them, in the vague hope (pipe dream is more like it) that she will notice it and decide that his palm seems like a comfortable place to rest her own hand and thus slip it into his grasp.

Which is exactly what she does.

_Sweet Darling _

_This is my confession to _

_The crimes of wanting you badly _

_And Darlin' if you're wondering _

_Here's your answer _

_Yes I like you _

_I don't love you _

_I can't love you _

He looks over at her in shock and realizes that she isn't paying the movie any attention either "I've seen it like a million times before, the Eames watch it on every major holiday". And he wants her so very, very badly that he just can't stop himself from leaning over and touching his lips to hers. Instead of the immediate fist to the groin he's expecting, her response is a gentle sigh that parts his lip and invites him to continue.

And oh god she is incredible. He immediately wants all of her, every way imaginable. His lips abandon her mouth and the little moan she emits at the loss does nothing to help the space issues he's having in his pants.

He attacks her neck, kissing and biting and then moving down to suck at her collarbone.

And all the while he's thinking that this can't be love. Pent up lust? Definitely plausible. Unaddressed sexual tension? Oh definitely.

But it isn't love; because there is no way in hell he's a lucky enough bastard to have Alex Eames in love with him. And he's not gonna be some poor sap mooning over unrequited love with the woman he fucks.

_And I cannot stop thinking about you _

_I cannot stop wondering _

_If you're constantly _

_Thinking about me _

She overwhelms his senses and it's all he can do to keep control of himself. He will never ever forget this, here, right now. As he pulls off her shirt he knows that this event will be played on a constant, never-ending loop in the back of his mind from now until the day he dies. Alzheimer's doesn't stand a chance against this memory.

He wonders how long she's felt this way – wanted him "Oh God, Bobby! Forever… Since always. I can't – oh fuck – I can't even imagine what it would feel like to _not_ want you".

And with that he sears his mouth to hers again, quelling her not-so-quiet moans as he thrusts his tongue into her mouth and his hands attack her clothes with renewed fervour.

_Don't close your eyes dear I'm still staring _

_I won't lie dear I'm still breathing _

_Even though your beauty is breath taking _

When he has finally divested her of all her clothing, she stands shyly in front of him. When he reaches out to touch her smooth skin her eyes slide closed and she lets out a breathy moan because words are not quite possible. He somehow manages to keep oxygen flowing through his veins while looking on the glorious sight before him that is Alex Eames, stripped of both clothing and speech.

"You're beautiful".

_Sweet Darling _

_This is my confession to _

_The crimes of wanting you badly _

_And Darlin' if you're wondering _

_Here's your answer _

_Yes I like you _

_I can't love you _

_I can't love you _

_Oh at least I don't think I do _

_Yet_

They are both sweaty and sated and tired, and as they drift towards imminent sleep she murmurs something. But his chest muffles the sound and he can't quite summon up the energy to ask her to repeat it. But he thinks that maybe, just maybe it might have been the one very thing that he has never expected to hear Alexandra Eames, especially not to him. And so he drifts off to a very peaceful sleep, while in the background remains the faint echo "you know I love you, right?"


End file.
